


Can't Help But Feel

by elle_nic



Series: peaches... the lesbian apple [2]
Category: The Devil Wears Prada (2006)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/F, Songfic, i guess morally miranda cheats on stephen but they are broken up before m and a get together, summary is tough but the fic is genuinely very domestic and soft at the end
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-14
Updated: 2020-05-14
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:34:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24185218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elle_nic/pseuds/elle_nic
Summary: She had fallen in love with the most inconvenient people all her life; Her teacher when she was little, another in high school, a professor from her university, and one time, she even fell in love with her boss.Of all these mistakes, the worst was, by far, falling in love with Miranda Priestly.
Relationships: Miranda Priestly/Andrea Sachs
Series: peaches... the lesbian apple [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1745503
Comments: 31
Kudos: 234





	Can't Help But Feel

**Author's Note:**

  * For [peachesandlesbians](https://archiveofourown.org/users/peachesandlesbians/gifts).



> for peachesandlesbians!! such a bloom in the mirandy fandom, coming into her own... please check out her fics because they are some of my favourite ones... she and i seem to be doing a rather natural fleetwood mac back-and-forth with each other, so here is my gift to her. Over My Head by Fleetwood Mac is one of my favourite songs in the world and it does give me mirandy vibes.
> 
> also the summary is brutal but it's really not all that bad!!!
> 
> it's gonna be close to 5:30am when i post this, so if you see a mistake, know that it was entirely my fault. tell me where the mistake is and that you love me in the comments !
> 
> elle xx

_You can take me to paradise,_

_And then again you can be as cold ice._

_I'm over my head._

_Oh, but it sure feels nice._

**_BEFORE_ **

Andy had issues in high school and college. Not anything that would affect her ability to move through life too irrevocably. But it was bad. Especially once she graduated and her issue didn’t go away… Especially when she began working for the most beautiful and despicable person Andy’d ever encountered. Her issue, if anything, got far, far worse.

The thing was: Andy fell in love with the exact people she shouldn’t.

It happened the first time when she was in elementary school. Andy, young and awkward and sweet, decided that Mrs Duquesne, her first grade teacher, was her wife. It was all very innocent, but Andy learned from her parents what ‘socially acceptable’ meant because of it and how to keep it up. It didn’t cause little Andy any embarrassment to have adjusted her behaviour, but her little habit would frustrate her until well into college.

Dr Greer was married and not her direct professor, and no one ever caught on that she crushed over him as she did. It was still embarrassing to realise what she was feeling. 

“It could never be someone simple, like Mike or Nate, could it?” she asked bitterly to herself, alone in her dorm one morning. Her practical (but emotionally out of touch) solution was to date Nate anyway, and learn to fixate on her partner instead of a married man with three children. She could break the habit, she theorised.

 _The thing about theories_ , she acknowledged after meeting Miranda Priestly, _is that they’re not always correct or successful_. 

Andy had not broken her habit, as became obvious by her desire to please Miranda (in more senses than strictly moral). In fact, she’d gotten worse. Miranda was married, had children _and_ was her direct superior. But she was brilliant and beautiful, and didn’t take shit from anybody, least of all men. She could be hurtful, purposely, to Andy and to her colleagues, and she could be spiteful and mean. Andy didn’t like those parts, but she was not entirely in control of her heart.

One thing was for certain. Miranda had too much control over Andy.

 _“I want you to deliver the Book tonight,”_ had made her whole week like nothing else in the world. Andy had been buoyant, the praise (implied as it was) enough to make all the rest of the job worth it. But the same could be said about when Miranda was _displeased_ . _“Hire the smart, fat girl… you’ve disappointed me more than any of the others…”_

Miranda was not simple. She was complicated and she was set in her ways, wanted things that Andy didn’t, and needed things Andy already had. Andy knew this. She knew that her love for Miranda would never bear any fruit apart from a lesson learned. 

“I shouldn’t,” she said to her bathroom mirror one evening, Nate asleep behind the door nearest to her. “But I won’t stop.”

  
  
  


_You can take me anytime you like._

_I'll be around if you think you might love me baby,_

_And hold me tight._

**_DURING_ **

Andy had been terrified and exhilarated by the realisation that she was having an affair with Miranda Priestly. 

Miranda had been separated from Stephen for three months when they began… carrying on. The divorce was going to be settled out of court thanks to an ironclad prenup, but Miranda was still technically married when Andy had slept with her the first time. It was a few months into her new job with _The Mirror_ that Andy arrived to her apartment and found Miranda at her door waiting impatiently. She was frowning and scolded Andy for deciding, that day of all days, to stay a little later at the office. She was the most beautiful sight Andy’d ever seen. 

They were inside, then Andy was taking Miranda’s coat as she sometimes used to, then they were lock-lipped and nearly cross-eyed with adrenaline and lust. Miranda stayed for half an hour and two orgasms and then she was gone again. She left her card with Andy, who still had the older woman’s number anyway. She left with a hickey on her thigh, one less button on her blouse and the explanation that Andy thought she deserved. 

She nearly decided to be angry. The only thing stopping her was the thought that maybe Miranda was trying to… seduce her into something more. Because Miranda didn’t take risks like being caught sleeping with her ex-assistant in the middle of a divorce. She just didn’t do reckless things like that. So Andy had hope. She’d see what Miranda wanted, just in case there was something in this. Just in case.

  
  
  
  


_Your mood is like a circus wheel,_

_You're changing all the time._

_Sometimes I can't help but feel_

_That I'm wasting all of my time._

_“Don’t call me while I’m at work. We’ve talked about this.”_

_“Woah. I was just gonna ask if you’d had dinner yet, but I guess I’ll refrain from checking in.”_

“Look at you,” Miranda had panted in her ear. “ _Look at you_.”

The passion, the desire in the wintery voice was enough to make Andy forget earlier in the evening. Miranda was stressed, she reasoned as the woman in question writhed on top of her. Miranda was getting divorced and Miranda worked so hard. Miranda needed an outlet. Miranda was the love of her life...

Miranda was not in love with her.

Andy’d watched as Miranda got dressed and ready to leave back to the townhouse after they’d had sex. She said nothing, thought nothing. Just watched as Miranda made herself into a celebrity and masked the results of their fucking. Andy was in her own home, in her own bed. Miranda came to her and called her to come over. But Andy felt cheap, and Miranda, who never once looked at Andy, always left Andy with the feeling that she should leave a little bowl for Miranda to leave a few fifties in on her way out. 

“I’ll call you,” Miranda always said as she left. 

“I might be busy this week,” Andy didn’t usually reply.

“What?”

“Assignments and whatnot. I might be busy, is all.”

Miranda looked at her then, confused and frustrated, most likely. She hummed, unconvinced, then left. 

  
  
  
  


_Think I'm looking on the dark side,_

_But everyday you hurt my pride._

**_AFTER_ **

Andy had an issue when she was younger. 

She had fallen in love with the most inconvenient people all her life; Her teacher when she was little, another in high school, a professor from her university, and one time, she even fell in love with her boss. 

Of all these mistakes, the worst was, by far, falling in love with Miranda Priestly. 

It was reckless and wasteful; lingered only barely past midnight then swept away in couture and expensive _Chanel_ perfume. It was doubtful and uncertain. Never knowing when her lover would show up and never knowing how long she’d stay. It was fruitless. Her loving Miranda meant nothing to the older woman, not during work hours or after. Miranda didn’t take Andy’s calls. And wasn’t it some scorned poet who once said _whover’s call you always answer, that’s the relationship you’re in_ …? Andy felt like a scorned poet.

Or she did. Quite some time ago. 

Andy had broken up with Miranda without explanation or elaboration. She’d feigned busyness for a week, then texted Miranda in response to an invitation to dine that she would no longer be available to meet with her.

_“Will you dine with me this Friday, 7pm? MP”_

_“You’re a very busy woman, Miranda. I don’t think I can see myself competing with your other responsibilities. But thank you for the invite, all the same.”_

Miranda had taken the rejection with the grace of a bomb, sending one perfunctory message in response telling Andy to meet her at seven at the townhouse and not to be late. The nerve...

Andy had fumed for the rest of her day, then the trip home and then in the shower. She had fumed as she caught the subway to Miranda’s, as she climbed the steps to the, frankly, ugly front door. She fumed even as Miranda opened the door and smiled at her. As Miranda welcomed her inside and took her coat and then simply _looked_ at Andy like she used to. 

“I’m not staying for long,” Andy said, looking at the coat closet ruefully. “I came to tell you to your face that I will no longer be answering you beckons or inviting you to my apartment anymore.”

“Andréa,” Miranda had said, infuriatingly calm. “Please stay for dinner. I wish to speak with you about something important.”

Andy did put in a little more of a fight, but she wasn’t truly keen to be away from Miranda, so she stayed. She was romanced and wined within an inch of her life, and it was so focussed that Andy snapped before the meal could reach any natural end.

“I don’t understand why I’m here and I don’t want to wait for the axe to fall all evening, Miranda.”

“There’s no axe, no penny, no shoe. I want to explain and apologise and see if you are open to my earning your forgiveness. And I do understand I must earn it, Andréa. I’m not so pigheaded that I can’t see that.”

Miranda explained, then, her five point plan in earning Andy’s trust and respect, and eventually love. Miranda had planned out every step of the journey down to the weeks it would take. It was endearing as it was overwhelming, but more than any of that, it was _proof_. Andy had proof that Miranda thought of her as more than a booty call or a meaningless hookup, or, god forbid, a midlife crisis. 

Andy couldn’t have been more glad to go to that dinner, especially as they were at the part of the Plan where Miranda would-

“-Darling?”

“Huh?” Andy mumbled, looking up from her notebook to Miranda, who had just stepped into their office.

“Have you seen a little… bag?” 

Andy, by the grace of god (and a few pointers given by Cate Blanchett at an event a few months ago) managed to hide her smile.

“A bag?”

“Yes. It’s small and it was dark blue… plastic, I think.”

“Oh, did it have a little white box in it?”

Miranda’s eyes went wide.

“It did… Did you, uh, did you see inside it?”

“Oh, no, nothing like that. I thought it was one of the twins’ little trash bag things. It was trash night the other night and I took it out, remember?”

Miranda’s face went white as a sheet and her lips pursed tightly together. Andy did laugh then.

“You’re terrible,” Miranda admonished, walking over to the couch where Andy was reclined and smacking her thigh.

“Me? You’re the one who’s always trying to steal your engagement ring to peek. Have some patience.” 

Andy had been hiding little bags around the house since Miranda found out she’d bought an engagement ring. Miranda had only found one other decoy before, and Andy had made it seem like it was the only one. She had the actual ring in Miranda’s second desk drawer at _Runway_ , but no way would she ever give Miranda an idea it wasn’t in the house. She’d flip Elias-Clarke on its head and shake to find the ring. 

“This is exactly why I wanted to propose,” Miranda sulked as she lay down on Andy. Andy shifted them both so no tummies were being elbowed and no hip bones were digging into thighs.

“You got to have sex with me before we ever went on a date so you can be the one to be proposed to. Don’t be greedy, ma’am.”

“I supposed that is how it went…”

They were past feeling bad for how their relationship started, but every now and then Miranda specifically would lapse into guilt.

“Well, we’re nearly married now, so we can have sex all the time,” Andy husked into a small, sensitive ear. Miranda shivered, but the stomping and yelling from the floor above them, then two shouts of “Mom!” ruined the moment. “Well, nearly all the time. Most of the time.” The stomping children grew closer and Andy grimaced. “Sometimes.”

Miranda snorted as she rolled off Andy.

“Come along Miss Best Stepmother Ever.”

“Hey, that’s Soon-To-Be _Mrs_ Best Stepmother Ever to you.”

“How about ‘wife’?” Miranda said, turning just in time to lay a kiss on Andy’s jaw. “Come along, my wife,” she said into Andy’s skin.

“Oh! I do like the sound of that…”

“All you have to do,” Miranda said, opening the door and spying the approaching quarrel her daughters were bringing. “Is propose.”

 _I’m in_ way _over my head_ , Andy thought as she watched Miranda scold her feisty stepdaughters. 

“Now, apologise to each other and to Andréa. I’m tired of this fight, girls. Manage it between you or _I_ will manage it.”

The sparkling look Andy received over red heads made her blush and stifle laughter again. 

Wasn’t it about damn time they had a happy ending.

_I'm over my head,_

_But it sure feels nice._


End file.
